Trying to look nonchalant, I hurry along the pavement and arrive at the door at the same time as her. The cameras are all still clicking away behind us. I’ll be in all the gossip magazines with a Bond girl!
“Hi,” I murmur casually as she presses the buzzer. “Hi, I’m Becky. I’m pregnant, too. I like your top!”
She looks at me as if I’m a moron, then without replying pushes the door open.
Well. She wasn’t very friendly. But never mind, I’m sure the others will be. I follow her through an elegant tiled hallway and then into a large room with lilac velvet seats and a reception desk, and a huge Jo Malone candle burning on the central table.
As I head to the desk behind the Bond girl, I do a quick sweep of the room. Two girls in jeans who might easily be supermodels are reading OK! and pointing out pictures to each other. There’s a heavily pregnant girl in Missoni sitting opposite in floods of tears, with a husband who’s holding her hand and saying anxiously, “Sweetheart, we can call the baby Aspen if you like, I just didn’t realize you were serious!”
Aspen.
Aspen Brandon.
Lord Aspen Brandon, Earl of London.
Hmm. Not sure.
The Bond girl finishes talking to the receptionist, then moves away and sits down in a corner.
“Can I help?” The receptionist is looking at me.
“Yes, please.” I beam. “I’m here to see Venetia Carter. Mrs. Rebecca Brandon.”
“Take a seat, Mrs. Brandon. Dr. Carter will see you presently.” The receptionist smiles and hands me a brochure. “Some introductory literature. Help yourself to herbal tea.”
“Thanks!” I take the brochure and sit down opposite the supermodels. Gentle panpipe music is playing over the speakers, and there are photographs of mothers and new babies pinned up on the satin-covered pinboards. The whole atmosphere is serene and beautiful. It’s a million miles away from Dr. Braine’s boring old waiting room, with its plastic chairs and horrible carpet and posters about folic acid.
Luke will be so impressed when he arrives. I knew this was the right decision! Happily I start flicking through the brochure, taking in headings here and there. Water Birth…Reflexology Birth…Hypno Birth…
Maybe I’ll have a hypno birth. Whatever that is.
I’m just lingering over a picture of a girl holding a baby in what looks like a giant Jacuzzi when the receptionist summons me.
“Mrs. Brandon? Dr. Carter will see you now.”
“Oh!” I put down the brochure and glance at my watch anxiously. “I’m afraid my husband isn’t here yet. He should only be a few minutes….”
“Don’t worry.” She smiles. “I’ll send him in when he arrives. Please, come this way.”
I follow the receptionist down the carpeted passage. The walls are covered with signed pictures of glamorous celebrity mothers sitting up in bed with newborn babies, and my head swivels as I walk. I really need to think about what I’m going to wear for the birth. Maybe I’ll ask Venetia Carter for some tips.
We reach a cream-painted door and the receptionist knocks twice before opening it and ushering me in. “Venetia, this is Mrs. Brandon.”
“Mrs. Brandon!” A stunningly beautiful woman with long, vivid red hair comes forward, her hand outstretched. “Welcome to the Holistic Birth Center.”
“Hi!” I beam at her. “Call me Becky.”
Wow. Venetia Carter looks like a movie star! She’s far younger than I expected, and slighter. She’s wearing a fitted Armani trouser suit and a crisp white shirt and her hair is drawn off her face with a chic tortoiseshell band.
“I’m so glad to meet you, Becky.” Her voice is all silvery and melodious, like the Good Witch of the North. “Sit down, and we can have a nice talk.”
She’s wearing vintage Chanel pumps, I notice as I sit down. And look at that gorgeous yellow topaz strung round her neck on a silver wire.
“I want to thank you for fitting me in at such a late stage,” I say in a rush as I hand over my medical file. “I really appreciate it. And I love your shoes!”
“Thank you!” She smiles. “So, let’s have a look. You’re twenty-three weeks pregnant…first baby…” Her manicured finger is running down Dr. Braine’s notes. “Any problems with your pregnancy? Is there a reason you’ve left your previous medical care?”
“I just wanted a more holistic approach,” I say, leaning forward earnestly. “I’ve been reading your brochure and I think all your treatments sound amazing.”
“Treatments?” Her pale brow wrinkles.
“Births, I mean,” I amend quickly.
“Well, now.” Venetia Carter takes a cream file from a drawer, picks up a silver fountain pen, and writes Rebecca Brandon on the front in a flowing italic script. “There’s plenty of time to decide which approach to the birth you want. But first, let me find out more about you. You’re married, I understand?”
“Yes.” I nod.
“And is your husband coming today? Mr. Brandon, would it be?”
“He should be here.” I click my tongue apologetically. “He’s just having a quick business meeting outside in the car. But he’ll be here soon.”
“That’s fine.” She lifts her head and smiles, her teeth all perfect and shiny white. “I’m sure your husband’s very excited about having a baby.”
“Oh, he is!” I’m just about to tell her all about having our first scan, when the door opens.
“Mr. Brandon is here,” says the receptionist, and Luke strides in, saying, “Sorry, sorry, I know I’m late —”
“There you are, Luke!” I say. “Come and meet Dr. Carter.”
“Please!” She laughs again. “Call me Venetia — everyone does.”
“Venetia?” Luke has stopped dead and is staring at Venetia Carter as though he can’t believe his eyes. “Venetia? Is that you?”
Venetia Carter’s mouth drops open.
“Luke?” she says. “Luke Brandon?”
“Do you two know each other?” I say in astonishment.
For an instant, neither speaks.
“We were at Cambridge,” Luke says at last. “Years ago. But…” He rubs his forehead. “Venetia Carter. Did you get married or something?”
“I changed my surname by deed poll,” Venetia says with a rueful smile. “Wouldn’t you?”
“What was your name before you changed it?” I ask politely, but neither of them seems to hear me.
“How many years is it?” Luke still looks thunderstruck.
“Too long. Far too long.” She runs a hand through her hair and it falls back into place in a perfect red waterfall. “Do you still see any of the old Browns gang? Like Jonathan? Or Matthew?”
“Lost touch.” Luke shrugs. “You?”
“I kept up with very few of them while I was in the States. But now that I’m back in London, some of us meet up whenever we can.” She’s interrupted by a bleeping sound from her pocket. She reaches for a pager and switches it off. “Excuse me, I just need to make a call. I’ll pop next door.”
As she disappears I look at Luke. His face is all lit up as though it’s Christmas Day.
“You know Venetia?” I say. “That’s amazing!”
“Isn’t it?” He shakes his head incredulously. “She was part of a crowd I used to know at Cambridge. Of course, she was Venetia Grime back then.”
“Grime?” I can’t help a giggle.
“Hardly the best name for a doctor.” He grins back. “I’m not surprised she changed it.”
“And did you know her well?”
“We were at the same college.” Luke nods. “She was always incredibly bright, Venetia. Incredibly talented. I always knew she’d do well in life.” He breaks off as the door opens and Venetia returns.
“I’m so sorry about that!” She comes round and sits on the front of her desk, one long Armani-clad leg crossed casually over the other. “Where were we?”
